


In for a Penny

by Copper_mouth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Relationship Issues, big ugly feelings, seriously they're both kind of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_mouth/pseuds/Copper_mouth
Summary: Tony and Steve hit a few rough patches in their new relationship.The working title for this fic was “Tony’s a dick and Steve helps too”.Or: 5 times Tony drove Steve crazy + 1 time he got it right.





	In for a Penny

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I kind of really enjoy when Tony is acting like an asshole. I love him way too much to want him to be perfect. Plus, it's super fun to write. Steve is definitely not blameless in this though, but he's not quite as bad as Tony. 
> 
> Additional warning re: the part that warrants the Alcohol Abuse tag - please be aware this is from Tony's point of view and he is rationalizing his drinking left and right. If you need to skip that part, it is #4 in the list.

1\. 

Steve sighed. 

Tony looked up and stared at him hotly for a long moment, but Steve was still looking down at his lap, nose resolutely buried in his sketchpad. 

After a minute, Tony resumed working, picking apart the holo he had blown up around him and fiddling with the formulas. There was just one thing, one aspect of the design he couldn’t quite figure out, and it was causing the simulations to crash at the very end, but he so close, he was _certain_ – 

Steve cleared his throat. 

Tony slammed his hands down on the worktable and turned around towards his – his boyfriend, whatever, his partner. His gorgeous, stalwart, sweet-hearted lover, he had to remind himself sometimes. Not all the time, just – times like this. 

Steve had his lips pursed as the pencil in his hand scratched across the paper in a way that felt – a little too deliberate, a bit _pointed_, you might say. 

Tony could hear every single time the graphite tip brushed the sheet because he didn’t have his music on – because it bothered Steve when he was down here sketching. In Tony’s workshop. Where Tony _worked_, for the three or four full-time jobs he currently had, the ones that paid the bills and kept Steve in those little Spandex uniforms he loved so much. 

As Tony glared at him, Steve looked up as if surprised to have his attention and gave him the most beatific, angelic, innocent, _bullshit_ smile Tony had ever seen. 

He actually had the audacity to raise one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Tony. “Everything ok?” Steve asked sunnily. 

Tony’s teeth were grinding so hard he was pretty sure he was going to pop a filling out. It took him a breath or two, but then he was able to conjure up one of his patented Tony Stark press smiles™. 

“Sure, sure,” he grinned, maybe using a little more teeth than he usually went for on the press tours, but he still thought he did a decent job reining it in. 

He returned to work and tried to concentrate on the equations in front of him instead of the sound of Steve steadily drawing from the couch in the corner of the room. 

It took a while for him to get back into it, for him to feel his way down the mental pathways he had been following before when he had gotten so close to his breakthrough. He was getting there though, success was so close he could almost taste it, and he was getting that giddy feeling that he loved, the one he got whenever he managed to revolutionize an entire industry single-handedly – and you would think it would get old, as often as it happened, but it never did – and he dragged the pertinent section of the holo back in front of him and he settled his hands on the keypad and started to type in that last finicky adjustment that needed to be made before it would reach perfection, and – 

Steve sighed again. 

“Hah!” Tony cried, whirling around on Steve, still holding his keyboard in the air. “Thought you were gonna get me again, didn’t you, but nope! I finished just in time, you didn’t distract me for _shit_ with your little passive aggressive noises over there from your, your judging couch, your Couch of Judgment, that’s what I’m gonna start calling it, just you watch me and see.” 

It was a good name, he thought a tad hysterically as he continued rambling on. Because on the Couch of Judgment right now was sitting the creator and stoic bearer of the famous Captain America Glare of Disapproval, the one that had been holding steady since the beginning of Tony’s extremely justifiable ranting. 

Steve’s eye was twitching, just a bit, but he was keeping up with the prim little look he’d had going for the past three hours, all haughty and displeased and just – well, everything Howard had always insinuated Captain America would look at him like. 

He didn’t even bother denying that he’d been trying to interrupt Tony, either, just interjected with a sniff as soon as he had to stop and take a breath of air. 

“So, you’re done now?” Steve asked, and it was Tony’s turn (finally) to look at Steve like he was the one who had gone off the deep end. Steve, of course, ignored him. “We can get started with our evening, then?” 

Tony blinked. He blinked again. No matter how many times he closed and reopened his eyes, the scene in front of him stayed depressingly the same, as did his recollection of the words that had just come out of Steve’s mouth. 

He shook his head and dropped it down into his palm and laughed, just a little. Ok, he laughed a lot. He laughed a lot in the way his old Latin teacher at boarding school had laughed whenever Tony used the wrong noun declination, which was often by the way because who the fuck needed to learn how to speak Latin nowadays thank you _very_ much, and it sounded condescending and obnoxious even to his own ears. 

But he couldn’t help it. Was Steve joking? He had to be joking. 

Tony looked back up at Steve and yeah, nope – not joking. Twin spots of color had appeared high on Steve’s cheeks, the kind that heralded not the full-throttled flush of Steve’s relaxed enjoyment or begrudging embarrassment, but the splotchy, mostly pale-faced incarnation that preceded self-righteous rage and a lot of heavy-handed speech-making. 

Nope. Nope nope nope, not going there. Time to cut him off at the pass. 

“Steve,” he said. “Figuring out how to do something is step one. You know how much good it does someone to figure out how to do something if they stop right there? Nothing. It doesn’t do anybody any good. Now that I know what to do and how to do it – it’s time to, you guessed it! Actually start to _do _it. I’m simplifying for you, of course, but I have a lot of work to do still. I can’t stop now. I’m going to be here for hours putting this into place.” 

“So,” Steve said, and oh god, the nostrils were flaring. He was really going there with this high and mighty act, Tony thought uncharitably, unable to hold back a defensive little smirk. “That’s it, then. So much for the evening together we had planned out.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “_What_ evening? It’s the middle of the goddamn morning, Rogers.” 

Steve choked a little at this, eyes widening dramatically, and Tony drew back in alarm. Was the big guy finally losing it completely? 

Before Steve could answer, JARVIS cut in smoothly. “It is 9PM Friday night, Sir. You and Captain Rogers had previously planned to have dinner together and then convene to the penthouse, enjoying a relaxing night in.” 

Tony gaped at the nearest of JARVIS’s sensors, turning away from Steve’s distraction of a face as he tried to rack his brain. 

“You purchased a set of heating massage oils together for the occasion,” JARVIS continued helpfully. 

Oh, right, that rang a bell. He darted a guilty look over at Steve, ready to toss up a quip and a self-deprecation to steer them back on track, but Steve wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the door to Tony’s workshop, jaw clenched and face still firmly molded into that _Captain America Wants You – To Stop Being Such A Fucking Dumbass _ look he usually reserved for after-battle debriefings. 

Fine, then. Tony squashed any sort of apologetic feelings he may or may not have felt rising in his chest at the realization he’d messed up one of their date nights _again_. He opened his mouth to say something, not really sure what it was going to be but somehow feeling like it probably wasn’t going to make anything _better_, but Steve beat him to it. 

“Whatever, Tony,” Steve said, and that hurt, okay – that tone of voice, and directed at him – that was just painful. But then Steve threw him a distant sort of smile and stood up, gathering his art supplies with him. 

“Really, don’t worry about,” he said as he walked towards the door, and then he was gone. 

Tony was left feeling like he had missed the last two or three steps in the dance, but after a minute he shrugged, giving it up as a done deal, and turned back to his work. 

2\. 

They were having lunch at one of those little outdoor cafes that Steve loved. These types of places had Tony feeling antsy and tense, waiting for a paparazzo to spring up from under the closest table umbrella and start shoving cameras in his face, but Steve always insisted they eat at them. 

He liked being out in the thick of things, he’d explained to Tony. It was nice to be able to see the city moving around, feel like they were a part of the constant stream of life and actually enjoy the presence of their fellow New Yorkers. 

Which, Tony was pretty sure even Steve knew that was a stretch, 70 years in the ice be damned, but Steve wanted to be out here with all the people, so okay. He’d mingle with a bunch of strangers. He was a damn good mingler. And let it not be said that he couldn’t find something positive even in the most negative of situations. 

“Tony,” Steve hissed, kicking his foot under the table. 

With a huff, Tony drew his attention away from the backside of the pretty little coed who was leaning over across from them to take another table’s order. 

“What?” he asked, a little more sharply than he maybe intended, but he was _on_ _edge_ here, out in the open where anyone could swoop in whenever they wanted and demand whatever it was they wanted out of him. 

“You’re the one always trying to get me to enjoy people-watching,” he tacked on, muttering, under the weight of Steve’s glare. 

“Not what I meant,” Steve ground out. “Do you not think that maybe it makes me feel bad, you blatantly checking other people out when you’re supposed to be on a date with me?” 

“God, Steve, keep it down would you? No need to get your insecurities all over the sidewalk,” Tony said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he checked to see if anyone was overhearing their little daytime drama, even though rationally he knew that he had positioned them in the corner between the building and a giant potted plant for the exact reason that no one would be able to get close enough to hear them without him noticing. 

“Besides, all I was doing was looking,” he continued on, always unable to keep from filling the silence as Steve just looked at him, like he always did, like he not once and would not ever understand a single thing Tony said or did. “It’s not like I propositioned her and then fucked her over the table.” 

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve said, and well – Steve normally never used language like that, not unless he was really upset. So of course Tony had to keep going. 

“How would that be any skin off your nose anyways? It’s a bright new world, Cap, welcome to the 21st century.” He took a sip of his mimosa, grinning at the thundercloud expression taking over Steve’s face. “You ever heard of polyamory? Open relationships? You don’t actually have to tie a guy down to be with him these days, you know.” 

“I’m not interested in that, Tony,” Steve gritted out between clenched teeth. “And you know it.” 

“You don’t have to be scared, Steve,” Tony continued, not quite able to make himself stop in the face of his imminent defeat. “There’s enough of me to go around.” 

Steve twitched in his chair, then, like he’d had to stop from throwing himself to his feet, and he made a noise reminiscent of a moderately contained explosion. 

“Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “Half the time I have to drag you away from something to even see you and even then I usually don’t feel like 100% of your attention is on me!” 

Steve was getting louder, and Tony darted a glance at the people sitting closest to them. This was rapidly approaching a Public Scene. 

“I don’t want to share you, Tony,” he said, a little quieter like he had noticed Tony’s discomfort. “Any time you want to, to look at someone that way or flirt or touch or, or dance, or,” Steve swallowed, “have sex or anything like that – any of your attention in that way – I want it on _me_.” 

Oh. Tony’s face felt hot as he looked down at the tabletop, fiddling with the menu in his hand. It’s not like he didn’t know that already, but – it still was nice to hear Steve say it. 

He didn’t really know how to respond. 

“All the important stuff,” he managed to get out. “That’s all for you, Steve. You know that.” 

Steve studied him for a minute and then sighed, leaning over to take his hand in his. “Yeah, Tony. I know.” 

Tony kept his head bowed as the waitress started heading back their way. “Order for me, will you?” he asked. 

Steve gave him a look that Tony couldn’t quite decipher, focused as he was on Steve’s hand in his and the cool mimosa glass in the other. 

“Ok,” was what he said after a long, somewhat excruciating moment of silence. Tony scoffed a little, only in his head though, because that was what he’d been waiting anxiously to hear Steve say? But he didn’t look at their server for the rest of the meal, and they didn’t speak any more about it. 

3\. 

“Cap.” 

Steve looked straight ahead. 

“_Cap_.” Tony tried again. “Come on, Capsicle. Mr. Rogers, do you mind?” 

Steve’s jaw moved like he was grinding his teeth, but he didn’t blink or acknowledge him. 

“Tastee Freeze, come on,” Tony tried, maybe wheedling just a little bit. “Would you just – come on Klondike, work with me here. _Steven_.” 

Nothing. Just a tic in Steve’s jaw. 

“Hello, earth to the Freeze Pop, Oh Captain My Captain, _come on_.” 

Tony should probably stop. Usually if Steve was going to crack a smile he would have done it by now. But they’re riding that ridge between annoyance and hilarity and Tony knew he could get Steve there, he _knew_ it. If he’d just let him – if he’d just lighten up a little bit! Tony could get him laughing and relaxing and blowing off steam in no time. 

Steve was usually amused by Tony’s over-generous use of nicknames and other antics, though he might never admit it. Tony had caught him ducking his head to hide a grin and releasing the tension in his shoulders enough times to know that a little teasing was often just what Steve needed to loosen up from a bad mood or a tough day. He just had to keep nudging until they got there. 

He started humming Frosty the Snowman under his breath. 

Okay, he didn’t usually hit this hard with the cold weather puns. There was definitely a line in there somewhere that Steve didn’t appreciate being crossed. On the other hand, no one let Tony get away with acting like this after a mission. Or ever, really. 

It’s just – villains with ice powers, you know, freezing the water lines and making it snow – and not in the good way – they’re a dime a dozen these days. You gotta roll with it sometimes. Tony doesn’t clench up tighter than a nun in a tiddy bar every time Iron Man gets dunked underwater by some third-rate megalomaniac. When he’d helped Peter out against the Sand Man he didn’t go all frigid bitch every time hot sand blew across his face and reminded him of the desert. 

He could help Steve through this, though, keep him from clamming up like he always does. He just had to find a way to needle in through that star spangled armor and figure out how to crack it open, like a bad oyster. He’d done it before. It’s always better to get Steve to snap back into himself as soon as possible, even if it’s in response to Tony bugging the shit out of him. 

Tony snuck an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and for a split second Steve looked his way, gaze still cold but now pleading, almost. Tony grinned at him and brought his fingers down to dig in right on Steve’s collarbone, where most people were ticklish. 

For a second Steve’s face contorted, letting out a breathy little laugh, and triumph flared in Tony’s chest – he’d done it! 

The next second he was on his ass on the floor, staring up in shock as Steve stormed past him, red-faced and shaking. 

Natasha eyed him coolly as a door slammed. Clint snorted. “Nice going, Stark.” 

“But, I was just – he – “ Tony stuttered, then trailed off. Whatever. They wouldn’t understand. 

He scrambled to his feet with a wince, rubbing his sore backside, then headed off to find Steve again. Time for plan B. 

4\. 

The charity ball was over. The after-party wrapped up a few hours ago. Tony was still drinking. 

He was staring at his reflection in the window, not even bothering with the skyline, penthouse view. He watched as his mirror-self raised his hand, bringing the bottle of scotch back up to his lips. 

Oh, that burned. That was _great_, that was – so good. Just what he needed. He was exactly where he wanted to be, feeling that way he’d been missing for, oh months now. It was just so fucking satisfying, giving into that craving, riding it smooth all the way through. Thank fucking god. 

He took another sip and then leaned his head back over the top of the chair, giggling a little as the room spun around him. 

There was sighing happening, somewhere beside him. Just Steve, ‘cause – Rhodey had left, maybe. Pepper hadn’t come. Steve was the only one available for sighing at this time. Tony giggled again. 

“Tony,” Steve said, and then Tony groaned because he knew that tone of voice. He was _intimately_ familiar with it. 

God, what? Just let him – just let him fucking have this. He never got to have this anymore, he never got to let go, to lose himself completely until he was just a rolling ball of shiny, spinning moments, all capability for decision-making thrown to the wind. 

That was all he wanted. He didn’t want to _think_ – he wanted to just _be_, instead. He was so _fucking_ close to that feeling that he was looking for. 

“You need to quit drinking,” Steve said. 

Tony rolled his head over to glare at him. “Why?” he asked sullenly. 

Steve looked at him like he was feeling sad for him, the fucking _prick_. “You know why.” 

Did he? He knew all the reasons everyone told him all the time, the ones he would usually say he agreed with. Actually, maybe he didn’t know them. Maybe he couldn’t remember them right now. Anyways, they were bullshit reasons. They didn’t really make any sense when you got right down to it. 

His hand was empty. What the fuck? “What the fuck?” he asked. 

Steve was standing by the bar now. When did he get up? Oh, there was the scotch. It was at the bar. So was Steve! That was actually such a great idea of him. Tony grinned again, swaying his way up to his feet to join him. 

He didn’t realize he had started moving towards the bar until his legs got tangled under him halfway there and he went down hard. The landing didn’t hurt, though. He must have really nice carpet or something in here. Oh, wait. Tony frowned up at Steve, confused. Steve had caught him and was hauling him to his feet again. 

Oh well, that was nice. He reached around Steve’s middle and grasped the scotch triumphantly. 

“Aha!” Tony smiled up at Steve, but _someone_ wasn’t sharing his excitement. Grumbling now, Tony flopped himself down onto a bar stool, listing sideways until Steve wrapped a big arm around his middle and straightened him back up. 

_That _ was nice, too. Maybe if Steve had been around to give him hugs at the beginning of the night, they wouldn’t be drinking like this, now would they? Would he, whatever, it was just him. Steve didn’t drink – he could barely get drunk anymore, since the serum. Tony snorted into his bottle – that would be the worst. 

Steve was still giving him those goddamn puppy-dog eyes. “Why can’t you just put it down and stop drinking?” he asked, eyes following him, tracking Tony’s every move. 

Tony paused with his drink halfway up to his mouth, then continued lifting it up so he could swallow it down. “I don’t know,” he said, and he really didn’t. All he knew was that he didn’t want to stop, not really. He never had. 

Steve watched him for a long time, or so Tony thought, memories of the night coming unglued and bleeding into each other by the next morning. He woke up in bed before he even realized he was falling asleep. 

He woke up alone. 

5\. 

Tony walked away from the medics calmly. He was going to move himself with the utmost composure to a safe distance, then serenely take off and leave. He was very calm. 

Until a hand grabbed the elbow of his armor and whirled him around in front of Steve’s angry face. 

Tranquilly, he raised his arm to Steve’s chest and pushed him back a reasonable distance with a flick of his gauntleted wrist. Peaceably, he set the repulsor in his palm to the lowest setting and held it aloft between them. A placid smile graced his lips. He. Was. Very. _Calm._

Steve exploded. “What the hell, _Stark_?” 

Tony could feel his face pinch up into a snarl and freeze into a rictus of what was likely to be grotesque proportions. Very faintly, he could hear Ana admonishing him to not make such faces or they would freeze that way. There was a ringing in his ears he didn’t think was from the explosion. 

Steve drew himself up and closed his eyes briefly in apology, but when he opened them again there was no less fiery disdain to be found there. 

Tony still hadn’t moved. It was getting ready to piss him off until he remembered the protocol he had put in place that effectively immobilized him if he was shaking too hard inside the armor. 

Huh. Well at least he knew that worked. 

“Why can’t you – “ Steve stopped, took a breath, made to start again. Everything around them was very still, in the aftermath. 

“Why can’t you ever just _listen _to me?” he finished in nearly a bellow, chest heaving and fists clenched, standing in the middle of the rubble in the street, dust coating his entire left side except for a rounded section over his torso where he had been holding the shield. 

“I had no way of knowing if you were right,” Tony’s mouth answered, not waiting for any input from his higher brain functions at all. Suddenly, he was moving again, marching right back up into Steve’s face. 

“But I was.” Steve bit out, stepping forward to meet him. “I _was_ right. And you didn’t listen.” 

“Because I didn’t know!” Tony shouted, and whoa, okay. Guess he wasn’t feeling very calm after all. “You were right, sure, fine. Great for you! But I had no way of knowing if you were right or if you were losing your goddamn mind.” 

Steve, he – what. Tony blinked several times, trying to clear the dirt out that must have gotten into his eyes. Steve was – oh my god. 

He was fighting back tears. His face didn’t look disdainful at all now, it looked – heartbroken. Tony inhaled and it was like coming back into himself all at once, leaving him dizzy. 

Steve was shaking, already coming down hard from the battle, God he must have gotten hit harder than Tony realized, and he was – about to lose the fight against his liquid welling up in his eyes. 

“Is this a pride thing?” he heard himself ask, and he flinched hard as he heard the words come out of his mouth. God, what was wrong with him? If his armor would allow it he’d kick himself. 

Of course it wasn’t a pride thing. That – that’s just not who Steve is. 

But Steve was squaring his jaw and jutting it out stubbornly in the air. “What if it is?” he said, and no, that wasn’t right, it couldn’t be. Could it? 

“So what if it is a pride thing, huh? If that’s something that’s important to me, shouldn’t it be important to you, too, since you’re my fella?” 

Tony stared. He had no idea – they took a left turn and now he was in the ocean. Completely floundering. “Steve,” he said helplessly. 

Steve’s shoulders sagged, and Tony wanted nothing more than to step out of his armor and wrap him up in his arms, sit him down, stop the shaking. 

He stood still. 

“No, you just don’t trust me,” Steve said lowly, looking down somewhere around Tony’s feet. “That’s what it is. And – “ his breath hitched, face doing its damndest to keep from crumpling, “You nearly died from it. I could have lost you.” 

Tony was – hollowed out completely. He was gaping, he knew his mouth was hanging open, but he was – just, flabbergasted. Totally thrown, lost the plot, unequivocally dumbfounded over here. 

At some point maybe he would get used to the idea of Steve caring about him so deeply, but that level of understanding just seemed insurmountable at the moment. Did he actually have a concussion? Nothing was making sense anymore. His own anger seeped out of him without him even noticing. 

Then a medic came over and pulled Steve back with her to get looked at, and Tony swallowed and peered up into the sky. He was clear, now; he could fire up and leave anytime. 

He stared into the blue for a long moment, and then he let his flight stabilizers power down and tuck themselves back into the suit, and he walked over to the medic tent to sit beside Steve. 

+1 

Sam is twirling the paper coffee cup around and around in his hand, leaning over the table to look at Steve. Steve keeps his eyes fixed on the liquid making a little whirlpool in the cup, cream separating away to stream in circles along the spiraling current. Then Sam stops moving his hand abruptly, and Steve watches as the contents of the cup crash into each other before settling down into subsiding ripples and evening out. 

Sam takes a sip of his drink. 

“So,” he says. “Trouble in paradise, huh?” 

Steve scowls at that, reflexively. He can’t help himself. It’s not – it’s not like that. Sam doesn’t have to say it _like_ _that_. 

Sam just leans back in his chair and laughs. “Man, you don’t have to glare at me,” he says. “I’m not the one you gotta pick with a fight with everyday so that we can get along.” 

Steve sputters. “That’s not – I mean, we don’t – “ 

“Relax, Steve,” Sam says, taking pity on him. Steve relaxes. Sam’s one of those friends you can count on to be a stabilizing force in your life, hold you steady. If Sam tells him he should calm down then he’ll calm down. Ruthlessly he squashes the little voice in the back of his head asking what Sam gets out of their friendship in return, besides Captain America. 

One issue at a time, Steve thinks to himself. 

Sam is studying him now. “You think you guys are just one of those couples that only works because you’re at each other’s throats all the time?” 

Steve’s first instinct is to flare up and argue against that, but Sam raises his eyebrow, so he forces himself to sit back and figure his way through it. He thinks about it and tries to find the right words to explain himself. 

“I know we have – that tendency,” he says slowly. “And yeah, that’s not – always bad.” 

He pauses, blushing, but Sam just nods at him to continue with a knowing, amused smile. 

“But,” Steve takes a breath and pushes on. “That’s not all that we are. We’re getting there, we _really_ are. It’s just – God, it’s so hard. But,” he swallows, looks down at the cup he’d already emptied and is now holding loosely in his hands, fiddling with it. “It’s worth it. Sam, it’s – it’s so worth it.” 

Sam’s smile broadens into a genuine, happy thing, then he’s looking over Steve’s shoulder and nodding as he stands up and gathers his stuff to go. 

Steve looks up and around, surprised that Sam is leaving already, but then his breath catches in his throat because it’s _Tony_, Tony is here, in this dingy little diner in Brooklyn that Steve comes to when the future seems so bleak and far away that he can’t remember how to keep the oxygen circulating in his now supposedly asthma-free lungs. 

Tony’s wearing a dark, long-sleeved shirt that hugs his chest and shoulders and makes the warm brown of his eyes seem bright in comparison. Or maybe that’s just his smile, flashing wide and real and a little tentative as he slides into the booth next to him and drops a quick kiss onto Steve’s lips. 

The contact tingles long after it’s gone, and Steve presses his lips together as Tony leans back, feeling the remnants of those sparks echoing through him. 

The barista brings over Tony’s drink, a giant monstrosity of a cup that probably has enough caffeine in it to fell a small animal, and Tony’s grinning at him, lips quirking to the side as his tongue darts out and grabs a drop of coffee that had spilled onto his beard. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks dumbly. It’s just – Tony is _here_. Steve never thought – well. He just hadn’t expected, that’s all. 

Tony’s smile falters for a split second, then settles into a more serious expression. Tony’s eyes don’t leave his, once. It’s a heady feeling. 

“Heard from a little one-eyed birdy you had the day off, so. Cleared my schedule.” 

Steve blinks in surprise, and Tony throws his arms open wide with a little shrug. 

“It’s our 6 month anniversary,” Tony continues. “I remembered! Or, well, I asked JARVIS to remember and remind me.” 

His smile is wry now, a little self-deprecating thing. “I’m trying,” he says. “Dunno if that counts, but. I hope so.” 

Steve can feel a smile unfurling on his face, Tony’s own expression growing to match his. Steve opens his mouth to suggest some of the things he’s been thinking about doing, some of what he was wanting to do with Tony, but then he closes it again. Thinks for a moment. 

“What,” he says hesitantly. “What do you want to do?” 

Tony takes Steve’s hand and leans towards him conspiratorially. “Well,” he says with a wink. “I have some ideas.” 

Then he pulls his phone out to show Steve about the new exhibit at the MOMA and he lays his head on Steve’s arm as they browse for different restaurants they might like to try and Steve drops a kiss onto Tony’s hair and Tony looks up at him with a blinding grin, and – 

He just thinks. It might all turn out okay, this thing, this relationship between them. 

Steve basks in the closeness as Tony presses into his side, one long warm line from shoulder to ankle. Everything is going to work out just fine. 

As long as Tony never tries to tickle him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Join me in pro-shipping, multi-shipping, Tony Stark stan hell on [tumblr.](https://copper-mouth.tumblr.com/)


End file.
